


it weighs heavy on my chest

by stevebuckiest



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Asthma, Attempt at Humor, Body Image, Communication, Established Relationship, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Reminiscing, Steve Rogers Titties, Uniforms, autonomy disconnect, girl youre gonna have to figure out what to call it, i just like them talking, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: He doesn’t know what’s going on right now. He just knows that when he stands up shakily to get off the jet feeling a bit more tired and woozy than usual, there’s a sharp pain and tightness that squeezes up from his chest into his throat- and after a moment of confusion, he’s sucking in a breath that digs the pain deeper until he well and truly can’t breathe.(alternatively, steve can’t breathe. bucky helps him through it)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 156





	it weighs heavy on my chest

**Author's Note:**

> blink and you’ll miss the euripides quote! this could TECHNICALLY be a follow up to my last fic if you read between the lines. you guys know my favorite thing is projecting onto these guys and finding a way for it to fit into their characters...well, here we are with this! steve’s compression shirt isn’t exactly the same as my struggles with wearing a binder or anything too tight on my upper body (thank you, ribcage), but i do genuinely think this is something he might go through and things he might feel over his body. steve’s a brave guy, but we all need some moral support at times, and bucky is always here to give that to him (and vice versa).

The thing with the serum is, it might have changed everything in terms of how Steve looks- how he runs, how he breathes, how he stands, how he _sleeps_ \- but it didn’t change a thing when it came to his mind. Which, there might be a joke to make about stubbornness there (Steve is sure Bucky would find one to make), but that isn’t quite what Steve means. Not strictly, anyways. 

Sure, the amplifying effects were something Dr. Erskine was right about, but while explaining them to Steve he had made sure to stress it would only resonate with what was already inside. It wouldn’t put anything in there that wasn’t already present, and likewise, it wouldn’t take anything _out_ either. 

So, even while Steve’s bones reshaped and his skin practically had to tear itself apart, his mind was the one thing that didn’t change. That was something he had frantically tried to reassure Bucky of after they reunited during the war and the fear of Bucky not seeing him for being the man he loved in this new body came to a head- but he’d had nothing to worry about, not when Bucky just scruffed his neck and exasperatedly told him “You gain some weight and think I can’t see you still? Same old stubborn punk inside, always worked up about nothin’” in a voice that was too weary for his age but still rang true. 

Because it _was_ true- even with the mantle of Captain America tossed on top, Steve was still himself. Still Bucky’s. He’s Bucky’s to this very day, and not time nor tragedy has been able to change that, though it’s tried its damndest. 

Steve Rogers is alive (and now, even doing _well_ some of the time) under all the brawn and bravado. His brain is still the same, and along with that, _he’s_ still the same. 

The tactical memory the serum gave him is just a perk in regards to that- he can remember what it was like to be small just as well as he knows what it’s like to be big. He can remember hobbling home to Bucky in the forties just as well as he knows how it feels to hobble home _with_ Bucky after a battle in the next century like they are now. 

He can also remember crashing the Valkyrie down into the water with Bucky in mind just as well as he can remember doing the same with his body and shield into the Potomac- funnily enough, that second time being because Bucky _couldn’t_ remember. Not even with the same serum running through his veins. Those are the things Steve would rather not be able to recall, but if the curse of a near perfect memory also allows him to be able to reminisce upon their first kiss with Bucky to remind him of the pieces his own memories are missing...well, Steve thinks it’s a gift he’s willing to pay that price for. 

It’s somewhat of a morose thing that Steve can recall so much while Bucky has been left with and fought so hard to be able to dredge up so little of their past together, but Bucky likes to remind him that he remembers the important stuff. Anything is better than nothing, but remembering Steve and remembering _himself_ is the most precious he can have back, he always says. 

“Loving you...sometimes it’s like touch memory,” he had confided once when they were both tucked safely away in bed, Steve burrowed halfway underneath him to keep his bare upper body warm. “An instinct, at this point. I’ve been stuck on keeping your punk ass out of trouble for so long that even when I didn’t know my own name, I knew that protecting you was what I needed to do.” Then, melancholy fingers ghosting over Steve’s stomach where they knew his bullets had once been buried, “Even if it took me a while to get back to it.” Brainwashed and battered, his protective streak for Steve in specific still ran a mile wide. His serum had an amplifying effect of its own in that regard, it seems. 

In line with that, sometimes Steve thinks that the serum had amplified a lot more than just their bodies. The good _and_ the bad, Erskine had said. Loving Bucky and being loved back by him is the best part of Steve, and he thinks Bucky would agree with that for himself as well. It only makes sense that their love for each other would fall under the effects of the serum in that way- regardless of whether that’s true or not (based off of Bucky breaking _brainwashing_ for him and Steve defying the whole world to keep him safe, he thinks it has a good chance), Steve sure feels like he loves Bucky enough to hand his heart over sometimes just to try and share the same body as well as the same lifetime and soul. He felt like that even when he was small. 

Back then- _before_ , Bucky had promised to burn down the world to stay with him, til the end of the line. After, he’d just had the room and reason to follow through on that promise. Steve had done the same. 

In that moment, in bed with his lover, Steve had swallowed and pulled Bucky closer. “Every time I get in over my head, you wade in and pull me out, Buck. ‘S always been that way.” He’d smiled ruefully. “Rotten work, huh?”

“Not to me, honey. Not if it’s you.” Their languid goodnight kiss had been both Steve’s reply and the end of that conversation. There’d been nothing more to say- sure, they talk. They communicate better now than they ever had been able to back in the forties out of necessity, but sometimes...they don’t need things spoken. They know each other well enough for a kiss to get across what words can’t, just like they’d known each other well enough to silently love each other back when they weren’t supposed to. When they had to be careful of who was around to hear. 

Touch memories are something Steve has, too- their relationship has been going on so long that it has large parts built off of it, the two of them familiar with each other’s bodies to a point where it’s almost like they’re an extension of each other. Two halves of a whole, as it were, aching in agony while the other was away (sometimes, Steve thinks that maybe his body had done that even when he was under the ice, missing such a big piece of itself that the touch starvation he’d faced after had been a phantom pain). 

These things- the way Bucky’s hand always settles too low on the small of his back because he still slouches like he used to to lessen the difference of their heights. The fact that his hands have room to curl around Steve’s shoulders (no matter how broad they are, because Steve still hunches in) to help tuck him into his side. The feeling of Steve’s pulse point pressing against Bucky’s wrist, because even after all this time, the habit of Steve slipping his hand on the bottom when they join is something that carried over from when he was smaller. Even the way Steve ducks his head sometimes when they’re speaking out of the remembered refusal to have to look up at Bucky to meet his eye- it’s all habit, exchanges that go between them without a second thought because of how natural they feel even in bodies where they could be considered out of place. It isn’t out of place no matter how situationally awkward it might be now for Steve to fit himself on Bucky’s lap or for Bucky to nudge his chin on his head, because- with Bucky _is_ Steve’s place, just like with Steve is for Bucky. 

“Being with you is just like riding a bike, sweetheart,” Bucky had once said, the first time Steve tried to sit on his lap back in their tent back in Europe only to smack the crown of his head up against Bucky’s jaw so sharply he’d almost bitten his tongue clean off. “Terrain changes, but the method doesn’t.” 

After that, he’d gotten right back down to putting in some practice for the method in question he’d been forced to slack on while they were apart, giving Steve’s new body a run down while he explored its new additions (mostly his chest, a preoccupation Bucky has which Steve is _still_ slightly embarrassed by) and showed Steve just how much they could do now that he had full a stable heart and more flexible limbs. It had been a memorable night, if not only for the emotion of their reunion and Bucky’s rescue, but also for the fact that they found out (at maybe the worst possible moment) that Steve’s newfound lung capacity gave him the room to actively (and enthusiastically) participate in making noise when they were getting it on. Or trying to, at least. Without the asthma, Steve was a bit out of control, but they figured it out eventually. Having to stuff his face in a pillow was much better than having to stop completely because he couldn’t breathe right. He’d suffered through that enough the first nearly five _years_ they were messing around. 

He hasn’t had an asthma attack since the night before Bucky shipped out when he came home reeking of cigar smoke from the dance hall and crowded too close too soon, still dressed to the nines and wanting to neck. Unfortunately, Steve’s lungs had not yet gotten with the program of letting their owner have a good time, so it took an inhaler and an opened window before they could even _think_ about being intimate. So far with the new lungs, it’s been smooth sailing, even if almost everything else had turned rough at some point. 

At least until now. 

Like Steve said- the serum might have changed everything physically, _including_ his lungs- but he’s still got a perfect memory of what an asthma attack feels like even if he hasn’t experienced one in this body prior to the current moment. 

But how can he be experiencing one when he doesn’t _have_ asthma anymore? Unless the serum has worn down enough to get to this point- or he’d been hit with something during the mission they just got back from- maybe he broke a rib? He doesn’t think he did, but Nat is always saying he never notices when he exerts himself too much-

He doesn’t know what’s going on right now. He just knows that when he stands up shakily to get off the jet feeling a bit more tired and woozy than usual, there’s a sharp pain and tightness that squeezes up from his chest into his throat- and after a moment of confusion, he’s sucking in a breath that digs the pain deeper until he well and truly can’t breathe. 

It hits him like a knife to the chest in a matter of moments- and for a frantic, hysterical second, he actually drops his chin down to check if there’s anything sticking out of him, but all he sees is kevlar layered over top his already padded chest and a bright white star that’s fuzzing around the edges the longer he struggles to suck in a breath. 

It’s a familiar feeling, really- but it’s so unexpected that he doesn’t think anyone can blame him for floundering a little no matter how many attacks he used to have on the regular. Not that much of anyone is around see him struggle- Natasha and Clint had hightailed it off the jet as soon as they landed, and Sam hadn’t gone along on this op- but, thank the gods above, Bucky _had_ gone along and is still waiting for Steve to get off the jet ahead of him like he does on every mission. Because of manners or being paranoid about wanting to be the last one out, Steve has never been sure, but right now it doesn’t matter. All that matters is _breathing_ , and God knows that’s something that’s always come easier for him when Bucky is around.

He doesn’t have much to worry about in terms of saving face, not when Bucky has changed his goddamn bedpans and helped blow his nose every time he’s seen him cry, so he doesn’t hesitate to drop right back down to where he was sitting without bothering to muster up any grace on the landing. 

“Steve!” Bucky, no doubt already curious as to why Steve had gone still and silent in front of him, is on his knees in front of him almost immediately with his metal hand gripping Steve’s thigh and two flesh fingers pushing against the pulse point of his neck, expression worried and achingly familiar. 

This is always their go to check in method for times like this- and although Bucky has no clue what’s going on yet, like he said, protecting Steve is an instinct for him. Always has been, since the moment they met. 

Bucky’s fingertips gently probing against his pulse to check his breathing feels as familiar as the attack does in the first place. It’s always the first thing he does when looking Steve over, another remaining habit from when Steve was small and sickly transferring over even after all these years they’ve gone without having to deal with pneumonia or asthma attacks that threatened to strain on his already weak heart. And thank fuck for that bit of nostalgia, because Steve doesn’t know how much longer he can go on wheezing like this. 

“Grip my shoulder, honey, don’t try and talk,” Bucky’s voice is a soothing murmur, laced with concern, thumb rubbing into Steve’s thigh when he lifts a weak arm up to hold on tight. “Need you to squeeze twice if you’re hurt somewhere I can’t see. Tell me the truth. Squeeze once if the answer is _no_.”

Steve’s arms tremble with the effort, but he manages to do as he’s told with a single flex of his fingers. 

Bucky’s metal hand flexes on its own as he assesses him and his seemingly perfect condition. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve got you, we’re gonna get you okay again.” 

“Can’t- breathe- I,” Steve chokes the words out, eyes watering at the effort, swallows and feels his chest convulse up at the tightness it brings. _Fuck_. He feels like a boa constrictor has a hold of his ribcage- and that’s when the realization of what’s happening hits him. 

Jesus, he’s a moron. If he suffocates it might as well be his own damn fault, right alongside whoever designed the new compression shirt they have him in under his uniform top. 

It’s meant to be an extra layer of protection and padding between his skin and the abrasive texture of his kevlar, but when he’d tried it on last week at Maria’s request, there had definitely been some teasing from Natasha about it “holding the girls in” as well in reference to his chest. Well, mostly just his pecs. Which do admittedly tend to bounce a bit when he runs, but not enough to hinder his speed, thank you very much. 

Enough to hinder his breathing when too constricted, though, apparently. As the present circumstances are now revealing.

He uses his free hand to slap gently at Bucky's hand on his thigh. “Zipper,” he croaks out, trying to keep his chest still so Bucky can locate the opening on the side to help take his top off him and get to the one underneath. “‘S-“

“Your damn undershirt,” Bucky finishes, cursing and using both hands to undo the snaps of the outer layer as quickly as he can without jarring a still gasping Steve further. “Jesus Christ, they didn’t have you test this out during training first? You made it through the mission in half of a _straight jacket_?” Once he has the sides open and can bare open the top, he shoots Steve a warning look. “Don’t you dare try and answer that. Keep your pretty mouth _shut._ ”

Steve does, letting out a high, breathy whine in response when Bucky has to sit him up a little to take the sleeves off so he can ruck up the dark compression fabric clinging to his torso underneath. His skin of his stomach is still damp enough from the sweat drawn out by the mission to cool once the air hits it, and that in itself is a relief, one that only gets better once Bucky helps him raise his arms up to guide the rest of the top up, off, and over his head.

The ragged breath he takes in as Bucky tosses the scrap of thick fabric to the side is one of pure euphoria and relief. Jesus- he feels like he’s lost ten pounds he didn’t know he was carrying off his shoulders, a tenseness he didn’t realize had settled in rattling free now that he can breathe again. The tears welled up in his eyes finally spill over with the first few inhales of air he gulps down, exhales loud and harsh enough to sound like he’s sobbing. 

Bucky places his right hand on the center of his now bare chest to steady him after the first few, neither of them having the room to care that Steve- currently acting as _Captain America_ \- is half naked in a place where anyone could walk by and see his boyfriend on his knees in front of them. That isn’t what this is. They both know that, but the way it no doubt looks, Steve disheveled and panting with Bucky calm and controlled near between his legs- Steve isn’t ashamed of what they have or what they do in their personal time, but who can blame him for wanting to get out of there as quick as possible after he gets his wits back about him?

Bucky, apparently. His hand doesn’t let up when Steve tries to weakly stand up again once the convulsions of his upper body have stopped. In fact, once Steve looks at him, he’s frowning the disapproving frown Steve sees every time he’s done or about to do something Bucky classifies as stupid. It’s a common look for Steve to get. 

“Rogers,” he says slowly. “Where do you think you’re going so fast, hotshot?” There’s a warning in his tone Steve is too unbalanced to properly heed. 

He takes in another steadying breath, counts to three, and scrubs a palm over his eyes. “To our floor?”

Bucky gives him the same exasperated _Really, punk?_ look he’s been using on Steve since 1924 and brushes a strand of sweaty blonde hair off of his forehead with cool metal fingers. “You just started _hyperventilating_ on me after straining yourself in that trap of a shirt for the entire time we were out today. You can take ten minutes. _Sit down._ ” The _behave_ goes unspoken, but Steve hears it anyways, right along with how Bucky's voice leaves little room for argument. Steve is feeling better, but not that much better yet- so begrudgingly, with a nervous look towards the open jet doors and a clench to his jaw, he obeys. Bucky pats his hand over his heart once he leans back again. “Thank you.”

Steve wants to scowl at how smug he sounds, but knows that wouldn’t help his cause. Unfortunately, his next words don’t seem to do much for that either. “I’m okay, Buck, really. You helped and I’m fine now, we can-“

“We can just sit here while you explain to me what just happened,” Bucky interrupts with a raised brow. “Pal, I just helped you out of your first asthma attack of this century unless you’ve been hiding something from me, and I’m more than glad I was here for you. But I would like to know _why_ I had to be in the first place.”

Steve winces at the barb (definitely meant to be a pointed remark about certain stories he had skimped on telling that involved ignored parachutes and fighting demigods) and uses controlling his breathing as an excuse to fall silent for the next few moments. When he finally speaks up, his voice comes out tiny. “I wasn’t _hiding_ anything.”

Bucky snorts and leans over to pluck up Steve’s compression top, gesturing it towards him with a pointed expression. “How’s this for anything, huh? I sure didn’t hear a damn word about it. Don’t think anyone else did either.”

Steve wants to squirm, but can’t with Bucky’s hand grounding him in place. He settles on ducking his head instead, feeling duly reprimanded. “I didn’t know that was gonna be a problem, Buck, I swear. Not like...this.”

Bucky sighs. He knows Steve’s self preservation skills are close to zilch, but that never stops getting him exasperated, even if he’s willing to take over the job for him in part. “You tried it on a week ago. I saw how snug it looked just now. It couldn’t have been comfortable, your circulation was practically cut off- we were out there for _hours_. It’s a miracle you were breathing at all, you didn’t think it was worth saying anything about?”

Steve worries at his lip and thinks briefly about how he’d had to knead at his chest and roll his shoulders after the fitting to make the twinge in his chest go away. How today his shield had felt heavier on his back with the ache in his neck the tight collar of the top had caused pressing against an already too tense muscle even with how hard he had tried to not acknowledge it. 

Fine, maybe he had known it was a little uncomfortable, but he hadn’t thought it was anything to make a fuss over. He could suck it up even if the constriction made it a little harder to physically do so. So, for the sake of honesty, he tells Bucky as much. He’d see right through a lie anyways. 

“Not really, no.”

Bucky blinks at the bluntness and narrows his eyes, shifting back to sit on his haunches and fix Steve with a murderous glare that fits right in with all the black leather and kevlar he’s wearing. As opposed to Steve, who is very pointedly aware of just how naked he feels under the gaze and without a shirt on. “You couldn’t _breathe_. Your safety isn’t something to worry about? What if that had happened while we were in the field?”

“It didn’t, now did it?” Steve snaps back. He’s got enough wind in him now to huff like he wanted to before, still tender chest flexing when he crosses his arms across his bare stomach. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You didn’t want to _make_ it a big deal, you mean.”

Steve scowls and looks to the side only to be greeted by the open doors again. His jaw clenches and he looks down at the ground where the stupid fucking shirt is still dangling from Bucky’s hands. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” _Jerk_. 

Bucky smirks and reaches out to pat Steve’s cheek. “Not until you talk, sweets. Deep breaths, c’mon now. In and out.”

Steve takes in exactly that, letting it out so harshly that it turns into a sigh. He doesn’t _want_ to talk about this, but as stubborn as everyone says Steve is- Bucky is the one who showed him the ropes to begin with. He can be a dick about getting his way when he wants to, and right now seems to be one of those occasions. 

Hunching his shoulders in and feeling uncomfortably exposed, Steve presses his lips together. In truth, he knows why he didn’t say anything when Maria first tossed the damn shirt at him in the first place. It’s the same reason he’s reluctant to say anything now. It’s _embarrassing_. He’s not embarrassed to cry or take a piss in front of Bucky, he’s not embarrassed to have him spent copious amounts of time up close and personal with his asshole, for crying out loud, but admitting to him that he’s too insecure to speak up about his goddamn _chest_ causing him problems? He’d rather drown again. 

But Bucky is looking at him so expectantly, so _concerned_...Steve swallows, throat tight again like he’s about to have an attack all over again. 

“Can I at least put my top back on before we do this?” he asks quietly. He might be stalling, but he also wants to be a bit more protected if he’s gonna be baring his heart like this. He doesn’t need to be doing it physically at the same time. 

“Of course.” Bucky’s gaze softens, but he keeps the compression top in hand and reaches over to grab Steve’s uniform top instead, waiting for Steve to tuck it around his shoulders before speaking again. “You can tell me, Steve. It’s _me._ I’m not gonna judge you.”

“I know, it’s just-“ Steve falters. “Dumb, I guess.”

Bucky settles down onto his ass on the jet’s floor, ankles crossing. “Try me.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve does.

“Don’t laugh,” he starts. Bucky just gives him a look. He sighs again and continues on hesitantly. “It’s just awkward, Buck. I mean, I tried the damn thing on. It fit everywhere else besides,” he gestures self consciously towards his chest. “You know.”

Bucky definitely knows. He’s half expecting him to make a joke- God knows he teases Steve about having tits _better than any dame he’s ever seen_ and wearing too tight shirts on every other occasion, but this time he keeps his mouth shut. Steve is grateful for that- as much as he sometimes enjoys Bucky loving up on his chest like _that_ in different situations _,_ now is definitely not the time for that kind of talk. 

Steve can feel his face getting red, but it’s too late to turn back now. “I mean, what am I gonna say? My goddamn pecs are too big for my uniform to fit properly? ‘S _embarrassing_ , Buck.” He knows the insecurity is seeping through his tone, but he’s too focused on chugging ahead to keep it out. “Besides, they put the effort into making it for me. For the _body_ they helped create. I had to at least try and wear it, I owe them that much.”

After a moment of silence to see if Steve has anything more to say (he doesn’t, Bucky is lucky he got that much to begin with), Bucky leans forward onto his knees again and places both hands on Steve’s thighs, bringing his forehead against where Steve has his ducked down in embarrassment. “Stevie…”

“Told you it was dumb,” Steve mutters self deprecatingly. 

Bucky squeezes his leg. “Hey, I didn’t say that. I get it, actually.” He sounds genuinely understanding.

Steve raises his head in slight surprise. “You do?”

Bucky gives him a lopsided smile and raises his metal hand up to cup Steve’s face, black and gold vibranium catching the fading light from outside the jet. He wiggles his fingers against Steve’s cheek, thumb brushing over the tip of his nose in a teasing gesture. “Believe it or not, yeah.” His tone is slightly amused. “I have some experience with things like this.”

Well, that just makes Steve feel like a jerk. _Jesus_ , how could he forget about Bucky’s initial turmoil over getting his new arm?

He’d been so torn up about choosing to accept it or not- guilt about T’Challa’s father passing during an attempt to get to him and the thought of imposing on a country that wasn’t his eating him up so much that he’d stayed up at least a dozen nights talking in circles about it with Steve before he’d settled on taking the offer in order to be able to continue to help in the way that he thought would atone for his past. If not to other people, but also himself. 

Even after that decision, it had been a long road to recovery for Bucky to grow comfortable with using the new prosthesis, casually or otherwise. It had taken a lot of tweaking, visits to Shuri Steve hadn’t been invited to go along on, and weeks at a time where Bucky couldn’t even stand to touch him with the metal before they had gotten to where Bucky was where he wanted to be. 

Now, Steve tips his head to the side and nuzzles closer to Bucky’s smooth metal palm apologetically. “‘M sorry.”

Bucky shushes him. “I wasn’t trying to guilt trip you. Just wanted you to know you aren’t the only one between us with autonomy issues like this, yeah? I know what it’s like to feel obligated to agree to things that are uncomfortable for your body. I know what it’s like to be afraid to speak up about it.” He gives a twist of his lips. “First couple times Shuri tried to upgrade my arm, I sat through about two months of pain because I was too shy to tell anyone it was pulling like hell on my back. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t shoot, couldn’t even properly give my guy a hug, all because I didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want to be a bother.”

Steve frowns. He knows the time period Bucky is referring to, but this is news to him. He had thought Bucky was just still touch averse- he was in pain? Steve didn’t _know?_

As if he can sense Steve’s rising emotions (he probably can), Bucky kisses him quiet for a brief moment. “It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs after. “But that’s exactly how I feel too when you let yourself hurt over preventable things. I get that it’s awkward, and I get that you’re embarrassed, but you can’t keep letting yourself hurt like this.” He strokes his thumb gently over Steve’s cheekbone. “Sometimes you get caught in your head trying to keep yourself convenient like it’s second nature. It’s like you’re holding your breath trying not to take up air because you’re worried about other people needing it more.”

“Yeah, I seem to be having breathing problems again lately,” Steve tries to joke, but Bucky just rolls his eyes and smacks his cheek affectionately. 

“You can _exhale_ now. You need to breathe too. You do so much for everyone, sweetheart. You deserve to feel at home in your own skin. That uniform has kept you making sacrifices left and right for a century, the least everyone else can do is make sure it’s comfortable for you to be in.” 

_Oh._ Steve breath hitches again at the words, ironically, heart aching in his chest at the sincerity of Bucky’s response. 

He has to take a moment to let the words sink in, voice coming out thick when he answers. “They’re still gonna make fun of me when I bring it up.” He’s heard enough remarks from everyone about his body, chest in particular, to know that he’s right. It’s not meant to be hurtful, just jokes- from Natasha about wearing a sports bra when he runs, from Tony about stretching the shirts he wears, Sam calling him Super-Stacked instead of Super Soldier. Even the memory of Peggy dropping the frigid act to stare at (and then even more jarring- _touch_ without even asking) it before he even got used to the weight of it is something he thinks of on some days, still after all the time that’s past. He’s used to the jokes, and hell, sometimes he doesn’t mind them- but that doesn’t mean he likes inviting them, especially when it comes to a matter he considers semi-serious or personal. 

He blushes 70 years later when Bucky teases him about having a nice rack or comes up behind him to lay a hand over his pec- talking with his coworkers and friends about his chest being too constricted by his uniform because of how unusually prominent it is? He wants to hide just thinking about it. 

Luckily, Bucky is here, and the last thing he’d let Steve do is hide from him. As if he _could_ when Bucky knows him so well. 

He taps Steve on the nose again. “I’ll go with you to your next fitting. Glare at anyone who gives you shit.” 

He sounds so serious Steve can’t help but crack a smile. “I can stand up for myself, you know.” He can, but that doesn’t mean Bucky offering to do it for him despite his capability doesn’t make his heart do a flip at that in a way he never would have been able to let it before the serum. 

Bucky hums and leans their faces closer together conspiratorially. “You can,” he tells him. “Could when you were tiny and you sure as hell can now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give you some moral support. You did the same for me when I was working myself up over the arm, yeah? You talk me down all the time too, I feel like it’s only right to return the favor.” He smiles. “Besides, we both know my glare is more intimidating than yours, Captain Cleancut.”

Steve squints his eyes at him over the nickname, but doesn’t protest it. They both know it isn’t true (Bucky knows that better than anyone considering the positions he’s had Steve in). “Jerk.”

Bucky pats his cheek again before pulling back with an easy smile and a hand sliding down to rest over his chest again the same way he had earlier to steady his breathing. “Punk. Don’t scare me like that again, okay? Thought you were gonna keel over. Seventy years later and your lungs are _still_ giving me trouble.”

Steve rolls his eyes and places his hand over Bucky’s on his chest, lacing their fingers together and feeling the remaining echoes of tightness and tension drain out through the affectionate touch. “Try being the one who couldn’t breathe.”

“Mm, you take _my_ breath away every time I look at you.” Bucky grins at Steve’s groan, relaxed and relieved now that they have things mostly sorted out. _Mostly_ being the key word. His face turns serious again after a moment. “Really, though. You’re not gonna wear that stupid shirt again, okay? You did fine without it before, and if it’s compromising you…” He presses his lips together wryly. “This is one outfit I’d rather you _not_ keep.”

Steve sighs at the halfhearted tease, smile rueful. “I’ll talk to Maria about it before our next assignment. I promise.” He squeezes his hand. “I’ll even take you up on your offer to come with me, how’s that?”

Bucky laughs and slides his own hand over to squeeze over Steve’s left pec fondly in return, expresion easy. “As your bodyguard or your cheerleader?”

Steve huffs and uses his free hand to smack Bucky’s flesh shoulder. “As my _boyfriend,_ Barnes.”

Bucky chuckles to himself and pats Steve’s chest a final time before pushing back to stand up, grabbing Steve’s shirt from the floor and holding out his free hand in an offer to pull Steve up as well. Steve accepts, and as soon as he’s on his feet, Bucky pulls him close with his flesh arm around his shoulders and fingers curling around his bicep as usual. Like riding a bike, Bucky had said. 

Silently, leaning into Bucky’s side as they exit the jet, Steve wholeheartedly agrees. 

Bucky kisses his hair while they walk towards the elevator to take them back down to their floor, hair whipping in the wind of the roof and ending up tousled to hell by the time they get inside to punch the buttons down. 

Typical of Bucky, he can’t keep quiet for long. 

“You remember the time in Europe when we were on leave where I stuck my head up under that spangled USO shirt of yours and you got so loud Morita threw a knife at our door to try and shut you up?”

Steve’s blood rushes to his face so fast that he feels like his circulation has gotten fucked up all over again, response coming out slightly strangled. “ _Bucky_.”

Bucky just laughs and scuffs Steve closer. “Deep breaths, sunshine. Don’t go getting all worked up again.” Like he didn’t bring that up out of nowhere to get Steve to stumble enough in order to relax. 

It’s worked a little, anyhow. “If I do, you’ll have my back, I’m sure,” Steve says drily, voice sarcastic even though they both know it’s true. Bucky always has his six, even for things as small as helping him breathe. “You’re a jerk, Buck.”

Bucky’s response comes out on instinct. “Punk.”

Steve’s own answer feels like an instinct of its own, mouth moving before he even has time to think about it. “I love you, you know.”

Bucky smiles, soft and sincere, pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips right before the elevator doors ding and slide open. He knows. “I love you right back, Stevie.”

Steve knows too. Even without a perfect memory, it’s something he would never (and could never) forget. 

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr @ stevebuckyinc if that’s your jam, feel free to leave feedback here and/or there! and by feel free i mean “please”. i know this fic was probably somewhat of an odd idea, but i like it and if a small amount of other people do as well, that’s all i need :)


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